“Guys I’m fine!” I slapped at the hands poking and prodding me through my duvet. The sunlight streaming through from where one of these assholes dramatically spread the curtains that I had blocking out all manners of light—the world just wouldn’t let me rest. I’ve been single for 6 months. Everyone says I should move on, but according to Tumblr, the natural grieving process for a serious relationship is at least a year. I still have 6 months to go.

            “Come dear brother,” The exaggerated British accent of my older brother Periwinkle broke through the sleep haze that I was so desperately attempting to fall back in to, “This is your first major break up; we would be daft to allow you to sulk in this manner.”

            “Cut the accent Winkle,” I smirked feeling his frown from under my precious covers. “I am not going drinking with you twats at five in the afternoon.” They were convinced that all I needed was some buxom blonde who’d be more impressed by my bank account than my actual name. Not that I was sprawling in dough, but I was financially secure.

            I refused to be anyone’s pity fuck.

            “Call me winkle again and I’ll castrate you.” Ever the poet that Winkle—the eldest of all three of us, he was born in England and raised there until the tender age of 10 when my parents transferred a very pregnant Ester Creed to Rowley, New York to live fourteen miles from New York City. Ten years my senior, Peri had nothing in common with me despite our blue themed first names. Yet he was my brother and in some weird way, I appreciated him.

            “Aw cut the shit Digo!” The brash countenance of Cyan—are you catching the theme here?—made me smile. Where there should have been a middle child, there was Cyan. At 6’8 and the lean body of a beanstalk he commanded attention everywhere he went. Although neither of us was conventionally attractive, Cyan couldn’t be bothered with such insignificant details. Women flocked to him like moths to a flame.

            While coasted above the singledom inferno, I was engulfed in the flames of Nutella and Dorito nights with Ben and Jerry mornings.  

            “Just get up and come out with us.” Cyan continued before stripping me of my cover. A collective groan filled the room at the state of my undress.

            Serves them right! Don’t come in a sulking man’s room and expect him to be wearing clothing.

            “Are you seriously fucking naked?” Peri gagged flipping the cover over the pieces they were too shame to see.

            “Have you never heard of manscaping?” Cyan laughed, “Your balls look like Chewbacca.”

            “It doesn’t matter; once he shaves they’ll be all shriveled like Jabba the Hutt.” RJ chimed in laughing maniacally at his own joke. I could hear him rummaging through the closet. No doubt picking out what he intended for me to wear for the day. We all knew I was going, but I would fight until—

            “You have to get up dude. I saved your life when we were little. Remember that? You almost drowned in Mr. Thompson’s pool and I pulled you out.” Cyan’s accusatory tone made me grimace openly at him, but it didn’t stop him. His blue eyes narrowed to slits as he finished with, “I gave you mouth to mouth.” I blew air into the sky in exasperation, “We were in our 20s!” He finished me off.

            He always has to drive the knife deeper.

            “No one else wanted to save you, resuscitate you, but I did. Even though it lost me my girlfriend! I still pulled you lily white ass from that pool. You. Owe. Me.”

            My life. I owed him my life. I’ve never been filled with so much relief and regret than that moment I opened my eyes and saw him spitting and caustically wiping his lips while I regurgitated water. Out of either of my brothers, Cyan is not the one I would hope to save my life. There was no paying him back, which would be fine if he didn’t throw it in my face constantly.

            “You guys weren’t dating!” I dragged out of bed frustrated with the knowledge that I would indeed have to get up, not that any of them cared. Peri sat analyzing something on my computer only glancing back to give me a wry smile, “Besides what kind of idiot confuses kissing with mouth to mouth? You were too good for her.” I lamented, pushing RJ out of my bathroom. His brown mop of hair bouncing with each step he took. He flashed me a quick smile before plopping down on my bed.

            “Whatever man, just shower and shave. You look like a skinny caveman. You’re doing evolution wrong.” Cyan’s sarcasm, a family trait passed down by our beloved father’s side, made my jaw tighten, “Come on Guy, bathe!” He had the audacity to sound incensed as if I woke him up from a pitiful existence and insisted he continue on with his life.

            “Fuck you.” I ground out slamming into my bathroom. I eyed the mirror warily. The whites of my eyes were red form too much sleep. My beard was out of control, but I enjoyed the definition it gave my face. It allowed me to hide the sunken in cheekbones garnered from too many missed meals. My body was skin, bone, and lean muscle. I was a mess. Literally a huge mess with no types of redemption.

            Who would want me now? No woman had ever looked twice at me before Jo. My heart constricted at the thought of her name. She’d never even felt jealous of other women. We both knew I was one of the undesirables. Which made her so great—she loved me despite my shortcomings in the attractiveness department.

            To say I was taking the break up hard was an understatement.

            This was killing me.

            It had to be. For my brothers—RJ included—to come into my home and demand me to be social. I must be dying.

            As much as I hated making my family worry, I was at a lost for things to do. Sitting in the solitary confinement of my room was the only way to move past the fact that my girlfriend since our freshman year of college and my fiancée of three years crushed my heart and threw it in my face. That she moved on in one month. With her douchebag manager—Jerry or Jared or something or another of all fucking people. That she had probably moved on before we broke up.

            By probably I mean that I was most definitely not the only key opening her treasure box.

            Yet, I was left exposed to the world and all of its derision. The pitying looks of my mother and father were too much. Not only that, but Jo’s parents subsequently blamed me for the unraveling of our relationship and for their daughter’s painfully obvious cocaine addiction.

            Because I’m shoving white powder up her nose. I mused angrily, Fucking pricks.

            Ignoring the familiar rush of frustration, I climbed out of my porcelain haven and pulled out my razor. I let my body air dry subsequently soaking the absorbent pad beneath my feet. I don’t even recall the last time I bathed, but with a casual glance in the mirror, I could tell that what little tan I had was gone.

            Was that layers of dirt?

**

            This had to be bar number 7. We all sat side by side in the semi-empty bar. It was only 12 am but on a Tuesday what more can you expect? Although I hate being in public currently, I’m glad they did it. I’ve been missing comradery. Each of us had our own lives, but we were a close knit family. It hurt to be away from these rascals.

            Cyan, the middle, was the consummate playboy, but we all knew he was in love with his best friend Felicity Mara. She ran his uptown gentleman’s club with an iron fist. Where most strip joints in the city resided in squalor and mistreatment of the ladies, Felicity guaranteed protection from unruly patrons and treated the girls like family. Standing at a miniscule five feet two inches tall, she could cut a man down to size in a matter of words. The only person she couldn’t best was Cyan who’s cynicism and sarcastic wit made him a formidable opponent.  Watching those two go at it was magical. It’s obvious to anyone who witnessing their verbal sparring that Felicity held a deep respect, appreciation, love, and hate for Cy and he loved to see her angry. In a drunken stupor once, he admitted that she was the only woman who could curse him out and make him hard at the same time.

            Disgusting right?

            RJ was delightfully single, if you ask him. As a videogame programmer he had little time for dating and socializing choosing rather to hole himself away in his mancave and test out the latest telecommunication devises while simultaneously playing the newest COD. Yep, too busy to date. I didn’t blame him. Guys like us marry girls who decide to settle. We were deliciously average, as Jo once divulged. When girls thought of nerds and geeky guys, they pictured Zac Efron in glasses. Not us. Not the lanky, lean, and logical. Oh no. We were no heartthrobs. Instead of going out on a ledge, RJ kept to himself while hiding his insecurity behind jokes and CGI.

            Then there was Periwinkle, our eldest brother. At 36 he seemed to have it all. The doting wife, beloved son, and booming medical practice—

            “Shea has been talking about divorce a lot lately.” Peri murmured under his breath. I turned my eyes to Cyan who was engrossed in conversation with RJ before replying.

            “What about it?”

            He let out a belittling chuckle, “Since she found out about the affair? Everything about it, but mainly just leaving me and moving out now that Alex is 18.”

            Shea—affectionately known as Butter in our family—married Daniel right after college graduation. At the tender age of 21 she signed her life over to him before God and the few relatives they could muster to support their union. By this time they’d already had a three year old who struggled with wanting to be the flower boy and the ring bearer before deciding that he could do neither and spent the wedding sleep on his grandma’s lap.  So at 21, my oldest brother was married with a toddler and I was barely growing through puberty.

To me they were the poster couple for marriage and happiness.

Shea dealt with our daddy issues like a pro, Peri being the brother who suffered through Yeshua’s downfall the most. I can hardly recall what happened. She worked two jobs while Peri attended med school and residency. Then supported him when he decided to open his own private practice; while diligently raising their son without any major complaints—I’d never even heard her raise her voice at Peri.

            She loved him like I’d never seen before.

            So one can imagine the heartbreak she felt walking in on her husband and his nurse aid in a more than compromising position; not to mention the humiliation of having their son standing right next to her.

            “Why’d you do it?” I let my voice waver slightly, unable to hide my disappointment, “Yeshua cheated on mom enough. Why go follow in his footsteps?”

            “I don’t know.” He swallowed the lie like a pill before pulling the crisp brown liquid to his lips and knocking back the entire glass. The bartender, recognizing a man in pain, refilled it without asking, “I felt like I needed excitement.” I nodded but didn’t understand, “Shea and I had this perfect marriage with this perfect son and we did perfect things and I was bored.” The run-on grated at my nerves as much as the bullshit excuse but I took it with a grain of salt. He hadn’t opened up much since divulging to the family that he’d cheated. We’d only garnered bits and pieces in the four months that we’ve known.

            “So you sleep with your nurse?” It was an incredulous idea to me, to fuck up a good thing, but I wasn’t married. The closes I’d been to an altar was when I had to pick up Alex’s slack and play both the ring bearer and the flower pre-teen 15 years ago.

            “Yeah, how fucking cliché is that? Banging my glorified secretary.” The laugh that followed was mirthless and hollow, “I’m going to lose my wife of 15 years over a meaningless affair. How pitiful is that?” It was pretty fucking pitiful but I didn’t say, “Alex won’t even speak to me unless she makes him. I can scarcely look him in the eye. After surviving the reign of Yeshua, I never thought I’d see such contempt again, but when I look into Alex’s eyes all I see is disdain. He hates me.” That was the real pain of it all. To go from being his son’s hero—our hero—to nothing better than the devil that Yeshua intended it make him was a tragic fall from grace.

            Ironic since Peri hated Yeshua most.

            “Do you think she’ll leave you?” I hated to ask, but I needed hope. Surely, if Shea could find a way to forgive Peri after he’s committed his own cardinal sin, I could forgive Jo. I could make her see that we were perfect together.

“Yes.” Maybe not. “I lost her the day I began the affair.” The finality of his admittance was a stab to the heart. Your poster couple failing was never something I wanted to see, “She won’t even let me touch her. She sleeps in the guest room. She cries herself to sleep. She hurts so bad and I want to ease her pain. I want to protect her. The strongest person I know—I broke her. So I can’t do shit about it. I was the one pushing marriage. I got her pregnant senior year of high school so she couldn’t leave me. I kept her loving me out of fear. Now look at me. Losing what I manipulated so much to keep.” Self-depreciation coated each word like venom, “I’m no better than our dad.”

            I gave a soft laugh because I agreed. It was harsh but I agreed, “To Yeshua.” I sighed, raising my Jack and Coke before taking a deep gulp.

            To Yeshua indeed.

            “What the fuck are you two toasting at?” Cyan butted in, silently I thanked God that he came after Peri had donned his suit and armor.

            “My failed marriage.”

            “Oh that shit, that’s no reason to toast.” Cyan shrugged, “Let’s go stare at half naked women. I’m too drunk to sit around moping with you dicks.”

            “You just want to see Felicity.” RJ deadpanned gathering his jacket and casting a smile over at the bartender as a thank you.

            “I want to make sure the club is running well.” I laughed then at the ridiculousness of his statement, “Fuck you ingrates.” He slid three fifty dollar bills under his cup and we all headed out. Half naked  women dancing over rich underendowed men, here we come.

              **

In case you were wondering how my doting sister in law and nephew look:

I introduce you to the beautiful Butter and Alexander Creed!

Oh and the timeless:

            How could my brothers be so blind? I have no idea. It'll all work out though. It has to because we can't all be stuck at home not bathing with Nutella and Doritos in our beards. Our mother would kill us.